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the birthday decision. decided.
Remember that birthday treasure I received? (I still can’t believe the generosity of my friends!) Although I was sorely tempted to spend the loot on a bill payment, I’m a rule follower at heart. (Plus, I really like birthday presents!) And so …. I picked two things. After discovering the Ninja for a great deal available online and realizing that I would have a bit of leftover cash, I started scouring Craigslist. And found a leather chair. A grown up piece of living room furniture. It’s beautiful. And it can replace the ripped, sad, imitation blue velour thrift store Grandma’s chair I picked up for $20 five years ago. Kevin…
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English Teachers Ruin Literature
English teachers ruin literature. It’s a bold claim, I know. I used to be an English teacher. Well. I still am an English teacher. I’ve been guilty of this. We ruin good literature. We put books that are inappropriate for their age or for their life experience into students’ hands and command, “read“. That’s the first offense. And the second offense? Oh – I think it is even worse. We talk about the books to death. We tell them (gasp!) what the author meant! We tell them what to think about Jane Eyre’s escape from Mr. Rochester. We tell them why Virginia Woolf uses imagery. We tell them so much…
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logic. five year old style.
My lovely friend Jo is going to give birth next week. This will be their third baby and she and her husband Jason have chosen to let the baby’s gender be a surprise. That seems like a giant deal to me. I love the mystery of it, the anticipation. But I know I couldn’t take the suspense. I just need to know. But they don’t. And this one is their baby so they get to choose. Aren’t we glad life works that’s way? Mostly? Anyway. The kids and I were talking about this much anticipated baby human. And I say, “I can’t wait to find out if it is a…
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parenting . . .
You know what’s hard? I mean, extremely difficult, without cut and dried answers? Parenting. It’s like a choose your own adventure book with new endings and twists being added each time you set the book down for a short break. It’s just so complicated. Worthy of your efforts? Without question. But hard. So ridiculously hard. It’s the kind of hard that makes you want to cuss, cry, rant, hug your own momma and daddy, pull your hair out, ask for help from strangers on the street, pretend you’ve got it all figured out, believe your own junk will ruin your children, find a time machine, hide in the bathroom. That…
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forty days
It was maybe eight a.m. I think I had already brushed my teeth but I was still wearing the clothes I had slept in. Trying to edit a few photos, I had my back to the door in our school room when I heard footsteps. I glanced and saw Kevin and I stood up to tell him good morning. And then I saw Sally. Sally! In my house at eight o’clock in the morning! In my house in South Carolina! Incredible. Unbelievable. Surprising. So so sweet. I don’t think I even realized the amazingness until after it was over. Sort of surreal to share breakfast with Oma completely unexpectedly. She…
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Charleston by means of Forty
I guess it was meant to be. Three girls all born on the same day of three different months. The 23rd. All with Beth in our names. (Beth. Gretchen Beth. Lacey Elizabeth.) Attending the same small college in the hills of Kentucky. Choosing to make a Big Deal of the year we passed the second decade of our lives led to making a big deal of the third decade we trucked right past and landed us right at the base of our fourth decade. Forty brought us Asheville for Beth and for me ….. Charleston. I’d never been before. Nor had they. Here’s what we did: Beth picked me up…
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more than lunch.
Last week, or something like that, I was approached by London and asked my favorite question of my every day – “What’s for lunch?” I didn’t answer with my standard full of love and kindness response. (Which, by the way, is a monosyllabic delivery of the word “food”.) Nope. I said something else. I said, “Why don’t you decide what’s for lunch. Would you and Mosely like to fix lunch?” I said it to be funny. I was laughing to myself. But London replied, “Yes! Please don’t come in the kitchen.” So I did my part. Which was nothing. And I did it like a champ too, I’ll have you know. When…
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Otto Fox Wilder says …..
Otto has always been trailing along, carried along, tagging behind on Nature Walks since he was born. And he listens too. Whenever we leave our home we pass a small field full of wild flowers. Without fail, he spots the lovely delicate favorite of both of ours – Queen Anne’s Lace. And he says, “Look at the Queen Man’s Lace, Mommy!”
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in the meantime.
She’s nineteen. To me, that’s sort of grown. To everyone else, that’s certainly grown. It’s surprisingly difficult to have two basically grown up women living in one home. She wants to be boss and I want to be boss. Some of our days seem spent in a barely veiled power struggle. When she’s hard to understand and when she pushes and withdraws and when I feel my heart bend toward her and pull back from her as the hour hand shifts positions, I think about my own momma. About the time I was nineteen and she was not and we survived one another. I feel robbed for about the thirteenth…
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surprise! forty feels fine.
I spent half of Year 39 thinking about Birthday 40. That number seemed so daunting. So definitive. So half way. So big. My thoughts were primarily focused on actually turning the corner on that milestone. Sitting at that iconic number. Four. Zero. But I did give a few thoughts to the actual day. July 23. I like birthdays. I always have. And I struggle with expectations. Now that’s a dangerous combination. It’s not that I expect people to do amazing things for me. And this is a difficult confession to share so I’m trusting you won’t judge me too harshly. But I have allowed myself to be a victim of…
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swimming.
I don’t know where to start. When I’ve been away from my computer for as long as I’ve been away here – it’s a little overwhelming to put fingers to keyboard. I cannot possibly recap every moment of this super fleeting month of July, although I’d love to try. I think I’ll just say the following things: London Scout has reached the Double Digits. Ten. It’s too much for my heart. I am forty. Also too much for my heart. Actually – that’s not true. It’s really pretty okay. Forty, I mean. At least – Day Two of 40 feels fine. My birthday was wonderful. Expectations more than met. You…
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Hi.
Hi. I’m still here. And by here – I think I just mean on Planet Earth. Actually, I’m here at my own home now too. I’ve been in Virginia quite a lot this summer. On farms with no cellular service and at camps with no cellular service. And now I’m home. With service. But still with very little time. I’ll be back to share about the good times – family camp and birthdays and dinners out and the homeland and Thomas Jefferson – and the less than good times – 23 days of rain and broken washers and broken dryers and owning only one car again. But for now I…
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o.t.t.o.
Four. Four is good. At four you sleep nearly twelve hours every night. You don’t poop in your pants and you can last an entire day with no nap and remain basically happy. At four you’re affectionate and you’re smart and you think Mommy is really funny. You can eat meals without assistance and you save your funniest grins for my eyes only. When you’re four you still ask me to sing you lullabies at bedtime and you think my voice sounds pretty. When you’re four you find comfort in my arms and you think a matchbox car is a treasure. And when you’re four and you take a very…
